Being relieved from guard-duty, John Newman and myself went to the theatre where they were playing a piece called "Family Jars." This is the first theatre that I have visited since I have been in Mexico, and I must say that they fully compare with our theatres in Philadelphia; the house was full.
During the day, I am told, there were six of the South Carolina Regiment died, and were all buried this evening. This regiment came out fifteen hundred strong, and now I don't believe they can muster more than half that number. Exposure has done the deed.
Wednesday, July 14, 1847.—This morning about 10 o'clock, Lieut.-Col. Black formed our battalion into line, after which he marched us out to a beautiful green commons, there to be reviewed by Gen. Quitman; here we waited for about two hours, when at last he sent word by his Orderly Sergeant that we will have to postpone the review for to-day, as he did not feel well enough to review us. Then you should have heard the boys swear, for keeping us standing in the hot sun for nothing. We returned to our quarters growling.
In the afternoon one of our officers belonging to the New York regiment, got wild and crazy drunk, and with a drawn sword ran the Mexicans in every direction. He was finally taken by the guard, and then taken to the Officer of the Day, who reprimanded him for his bad conduct. If this should have been a private, there would have been no pity, nor reprimanding, but the cry would have been "put the drunken loafer in the guard-house." And probably, if he made any unusual noise, he would have been bucked and gagged to the floor. Such is the punishment of private soldiers, if they don't behave themselves, but officers go free.
This evening I wrote five letters to different friends of mine in the United States. One—the second—to my brother Frederick, as follows:—
